


Damp Places

by HipHopAnonymous



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Canon Compliant, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Cunnilingus, Other, slight angst, zine fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:22:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23200090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HipHopAnonymous/pseuds/HipHopAnonymous
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley meet in the Middle Ages, and the angel is more than a little reluctant to agree to an Arrangement between them. He does, however, partake in a little sparring match with a prize to the winner.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 186
Collections: British Angels and Demons, Love And Lust Through The Ages, Top Crowley Library





	Damp Places

**Author's Note:**

> This was one of my fics from the AZ Fell's Erotica Zine - Love and Lust Through the Ages. Enjoy!

“I told you to stop following me, Craw-Crowley. I’m not agreeing to shirk my duties and that’s final!” Aziraphale pulled off his helmet and wiped his brow, suffering in his ill-fitting, heavy suit of arms.

“All right! I get it!” Crowley followed suit, removing his helmet and giving his cramped neck a stretch. It felt so good that, with a shrug, he began removing the rest of the metal plate from his body.

“What are you _doing_?” Aziraphale asked, scandalized.

“Just getting comfortable.”

“Disarming in front of the enemy? Is that wise?”

Crowley snorted. “ _Enemy_! It’s only you.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips. “ _Only._ ”

“Relax, Angel, I’m not trying to insult you.” He eyed Aziraphale who was standing rather stiffly. “Why don’t you take yours off, too? Nobody else is around. I’m not asking you to shirk, just have a little break with me. Think of it as a momentary truce.”

Aziraphale grimaced, a picture of inner turmoil at Crowley’s light temptation. The armour was heavy, unyielding, and terribly uncomfortable. It left bruises after a day’s wear. “Well … oh, all right!”

Aziraphale began primly unfastening the armour, laying it aside in a neat pile, in stark contrast to the way Crowley was chucking his about in a disorganized heap. Crowley wasted no time in getting down to his wool and linen underthings and sprawling out on the ground with his hands behind his head, sighing in contentment.

It felt strange to be undressing in front of Crowley, though it wasn’t as if Aziraphale were getting naked. He felt compelled to face away but figured he ought not turn his back on a demon, even a friendly one. Aziraphale finished demurely stripping down to his shirt, drawers, and leggings, and then sat down a respectable distance from Crowley.

There was a rather awkward silence until Crowley finally broke it by asking, “What would you say to a little sparring match?”

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows. His recent duties had barely required him to lift a finger, and he was feeling restless. It was certainly _tempting._

“What stakes?” He asked.

Crowley smiled. “Winner’s choice.”

“Ill advised for you,” Aziraphale said with a sniff.

“Feeling confident, are we?”

“You do remember I was a soldier, don’t you? I had a flaming sword and everything.”

“Yes, but you gave it away.”

Aziraphale’s cheeks pinkened and his brow furrowed. “So?”

“So I think you’re out of practice.”

Aziraphale stood quickly with an indignant huff. “We’ll just have to see about that!”

“Practice blades?” Crowley asked as he summoned a pair of wooden swords, handing one to Aziraphale.

“Good lord, of course! Do you really want to explain to Beelzebub why you’ll be needing a new corporation?”

Crowley only smiled and brandished his weapon as he fell into a confident ox ward stance.

* * *

It turned out Aziraphale was out of practice. From Crowley’s first successful feint, Aziraphale knew he was done for. Crowley absolutely trounced him. Aziraphale finally conceded after Crowley had knocked him onto his backside with a well-time swipe to his ankles. He gasped out “I yield!” while red faced and panting. He tossed his wooden sword to the ground in a snit and rested his head on his knees as he caught his breath.

“I knew you’d gone soft,” Crowley teased.

“Oh, shut up,” Aziraphale said, scowling sorely at his loss. He shook his head, sighing heavily. “All right, then. Go ahead and claim your victory. Shall I give you a token or something?”

Crowley grinned. “A kiss.”

Aziraphale blushed, eyes darting nervously from side to side. “Hush! Someone will _hear_! You _must_ be joking, dear fellow.”

Crowley took a step towards him and Aziraphale instinctively tugged at his linens, trying to cover the bits of skin showing where the fabric had ridden up. Crowley licked his lips, looking quite hungry, and shook his head. “Not joking at all. Are you trying to renege on the wager? How _dishonourable._ ” He raised an eyebrow.

 _To seek nothing before honour._ A tenant from Arthur’s Code of Chivalry. All his knights, including Aziraphale, had sworn to it. Perhaps a demon would break an oath, but not an angel. Aziraphale let out a defeated breath.

“Very well. But only this once!” Aziraphale had said those words before. First, when they’d exchanged sloppy kisses in Eden, hands fumbling beneath their robes. He’d said it again after the flood while they rubbed up against one another hidden in some misty foliage. This time, though, he _really_ meant it, of course.

Aziraphale moved as if to stand, but Crowley advanced on him at once, placing a hand on the angel’s chest and pushing him onto his back. With his other hand, he made quick work of unlacing Aziraphale’s breeches and tugging the loose fabric down over his hips.

“What on earth?” Aziraphale cried, too shocked to put up much of a struggle. “I thought you only wanted a kiss!”

“I do.”

Crowley spread Aziraphale’s thighs and held them firmly open, bending down and pressing his lips to the angel’s cunt. He wasted no time in slipping his tongue between the slick folds and flicking it up across the tiny, sensitive nub at the top.

“Crowley! This isn’t a k-kiss!” Aziraphale gasped out, covering his scarlet face with his hands, toes curling and legs trembling as his sex was set ablaze with pleasure.

“Yes it is, Angel,” Crowley said between laps of his abnormally long tongue. “I wanted to kiss you on the queynte is all. I just knew you had one tucked here between your legs.”

“Oh! _Oh_!” Aziraphale writhed and moaned. “Crowley, what are you _doing_?”

Crowley paused, and Aziraphale felt the demon’s smile against his thigh. “I’m working very hard in damp places.”

Aziraphale couldn’t even manage a scoff at the puerile joke, because Crowley’s tongue was suddenly moving impossibly fast against his clitoris. He could only let out a stuttering wail as the pressure built to a crescendo and he came with a gush of slick against Crowley’s mouth. Crowley licked him gently through his shudders as the paroxysms waned and Aziraphale collapsed into a spent, boneless heap on the grass.

* * *

Aziraphale reluctantly began donning his armour again. “All this ridiculous metal chafes and pinches something terrible. It’s a real bother!”

“Oh, it’s not _that_ bad,” Crowley said, already fully armoured apart from the helmet he held under his arm. “It helps to keep all the stabbity weapons from making you bleed, at least.”

“Yes, well, you _are_ a serpent, after all. It may feel different to you. Your trim, lanky body probably just knocks about in there with room to spare. _Some_ of us have a little more flesh!”

Crowley gave Aziraphale a lurid once over accompanied by a suggestive wink of one golden eye, “Yes, well, thank _someone_ for _that_!”

Aziraphale quickly pulled the helmet onto his head to hide his blush. With his face covered, he found his nerve and couldn’t help but ask, “How did you know what sort of, um … _effort_ I had? You said you knew.”

Crowley chuckled. “Oh, come on, Aziraphale. I could scent that sweet little celestial essence of yours a mile away. Besides, anyone with a prick would stiffen during battle — even a simple sparring match. Didn’t you notice mine?”

Aziraphale was extra thankful for the helmet now, his face absolutely burning. Even so, he had to turn away and pretend to fuss with his chainmail. “Oh, I see.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed with difficulty. “But … you didn’t get to … _spill._ ”

“Next time, Angel. And do think about my offer for a little arrangement between us, won’t you? We could both save a lot of time and energy.”

 _Next time?_ Aziraphale whirled around, but the _Absolutely not!_ died on his lips. Crowley had vanished, leaving Aziraphale, still damp in a way that had nothing to do with the climate, alone and conflicted in the fog.

**Author's Note:**

> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/HipHopAnonymou9)
> 
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